


Birthdays

by drinkbloodlikewine, whiskeyandspite



Series: Midnighters Timestamps [9]
Category: Adam (2009), Charlie Countryman (2013), Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Birthday Sex, Clothing Kink, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Oral Sex, Possessiveness, Rimming, Rough Sex, Stripping, adoration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 21:42:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4581153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkbloodlikewine/pseuds/drinkbloodlikewine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I’ve already got everything I could ever fucking want, angel.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“That’s not true,” Adam laughs, just a soft sound that brings warmth rosy to his cheeks. Nigel watches the spread of scarlet there, bewitched. “Well,” Adam corrects, in a littler voice, “maybe that’s true now. Come see.”</i>
</p><p>The puppies celebrate Nigel's birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthdays

**Author's Note:**

> Love love love to our beta [noodle](http://noodeltheelephant.tumblr.com/). You are utterly invaluable and extremely amazing bb, we hope you know that.

Adam likes what he likes. Soft shirts and sweater vests, comfortable pants and tidy shoes. He likes glasses sometimes. He likes Nigel’s jacket.

No matter how much money they have or how long they have spent together, that hasn’t changed. Still frumpy little vests and too-soft shirts, matching socks and practical underwear. But once in a while, a special occasion comes around that has Adam rethinking his structure enough to not so much change it as sway it, one way or another.

Nigel’s birthday is always such an occasion.

They had to make one up, Nigel determined not to dig up his old official Romanian passport to find the actual date, and since that first time, it has stuck. End of February, just before the date that comes and goes every four years. For two years, the birthday had passed with a dinner, cuddling, sex in the shower and the kitchen and living room and finally in bed. This year, though, with three years under their belt, Adam finds he wants to do something special.

So the first thing he does is dress up.

It took a while to find what he wanted. Each article of clothing required a special trip and each of those was overwhelming. The first was easiest, when he saw a pair of underwear on a mannequin in the window, much like his own already with the Y in the front, but red instead of white. It seemed like a color Nigel would like, though Adam nearly left the store entirely when he was asked what size he needed. The woman who helped him guessed he was a small, and she was right.

Adam considered just wearing those, and nothing else, but he couldn’t help recall how often Nigel makes tiger-noises at him when he peels off layers of clothing, and how roughly Nigel sighs when he’s stripped Adam down to his underpants.

Each week, Adam spent a few days getting himself ready to go out. Little trips to local shops in the neighborhood over, map in hand. He realized quickly that the best thing to do was to tell whomever offered to help him first what he was looking for that day, and that he didn’t know what size. Gradually, it all came together.

Grey slacks similar to his own, and very soft, but a little more snug than Adam would normally wear. The button-down shirt in pale blue, also a bit snug. A soft sweater over the top in a grey like that of his new pants.

A bowtie.

That, he isn’t quite sure about. It’s red like his underwear, bright beneath his chin and fitted against his throat. He spans his hands down his pants and shifts, from foot to foot, reminding himself that he won’t have to wear any of it very long - he hopes - once Nigel sees him.

The lock clicks open, then the next, then the next.

Adam hopes desperately that Nigel doesn’t want to go out to dinner.

And he knows from the long look Nigel gives him when he steps inside, dizzying and hot as the smoke from the older man’s cigarettes, that he doesn’t need to worry about that.

“Hello, darling.”

Adam smiles. He always smiles when Nigel greets him, whether as _darling_ or _sparrow_ or _baby_ , the words always taste like honey, feel just as smooth against him. He smiles and Nigel’s lip lifts a little as though in a snarl, but it is hardly anything so displeased.

“I missed you,” Adam mumbles, taking a step closer, pushing his hands in his pockets and then pulling them free again, clasping them behind his back and moving them to the front again. Fidgeting and fiddling until his hands settle on Nigel’s shirt instead and he twists the corner of his collar between his fingers.

“I love that you miss me even though I’m only gone three fucking hours.”

“I miss you when you go for one hour,” Adam corrects him, and lifts his eyes, bright and blue to Nigel standing beautiful and imposing before him. “And I miss you more on your birthday. Happy birthday. I got you something this year, instead of dinner. We could have dinner, but it’s something else, too. It’s in the kitchen.”

Nigel leans against the door to close it, tossing his keys to the table beside. They slide off and clatter to the ground and when Adam glances to them, Nigel gently grasps his chin to turn him back. He leans close, near enough that the scent of tobacco is still warm on his breath, lips nearly touching Adam’s, but not quite. Nigel is always happy to tease himself when it comes to Adam, to tempt and resist on his own behalf. He wouldn’t fucking ask Adam to do it, it would be a terrible fucking thing to insist Adam act in any other way than he already does. 

He grins and murmurs, “I’ve already got everything I could ever fucking want, angel.”

“That’s not true,” Adam laughs, just a soft sound that brings warmth rosy to his cheeks. Nigel watches the spread of scarlet there, bewitched. “Well,” Adam corrects, in a littler voice, “maybe that’s true now. Come see.”

Nigel spreads a broad hand down Adam’s neck, to the stiff collar of his new shirt, beneath it and the bowtie. He’s fucking stunning.

“You fucking hate things around your neck,” Nigel observes, gently ignoring Adam’s request. He touches a kiss to his cheek. Another to his jaw. One lower to his neck, just beneath his ear. “Did you dress up just for me?”

“Yeah,” Adam sighs, eyes closing as Nigel expertly navigates his throat with rough lips and hot breath. “I thought you’d like it.”

“Fucking beautiful,” Nigel growls softly, and there it is, that tone and that tenor, and Adam has to grasp gently against Nigel’s forearms to hold him at bay, despite the fact that he desperately wants to let Nigel ravish him damn near in the hallway. Adam squeezes his fingers, makes a little kitten sound of pleasure and squirms free, laughing when Nigel catches his wrist and Adam takes his hand instead.

“Come here, come look,” he insists, and with a groan, feigned displeasure and resignation, Nigel follows his sparrow to the kitchen. “I had to find the perfect one.”

On the counter rests a machine, elegant in chrome and black, a small screen illuminated with buttons beside. It looks like something out of a catalog, never to be used and always to be looked at, but hell if Nigel won’t use this coffee machine until it forgets how to fucking function.

“It’s why it took so long - I’m sorry it took so long - I know you’ve wanted a coffee machine for a long time but I didn’t want to get one that would break within the year. You’d push it, so we needed one that would last a long time -”

Nigel regards the machine as he might a rival, delighting in the challenge presented to him in shining metal and sleek curves. His eyes narrow, not at all in displeasure.

“Where does it drip?”

“It makes espresso, but all kinds of variants - you select on the screen and -”

“You’re going to show me how to use it?”

Adam blinks, lips parting. “I saved the instruction manual.”

“You,” Nigel says again, stepping closer. He hooks a finger in the waistband of Adam’s skinny pants and tugs him closer. “Need to be a fucking rocket scientist for this.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“I do,” he grins. “Don’t you fucking hate the smell of coffee?”

Adam shrugs and nods, a uniform motion that sends Nigel’s gaze along his form and back again. “Yes, and cigarettes. But -”

“But you let me have them.”

“You have them anyway.”

“But you _let_ me,” Nigel says again, pressing closer still, until they’re chest to chest, words stirring Adam’s curls as he ducks his head. “Why?”

“Because they make you happy,” Adam answers, sweetly, simply. “And I’d rather you be happy than smashing things.”

“And because you love me.”

Adam grins, bright and wide, eyes narrowed with it and cheeks pink. “Because I love you,” he agrees, leaning in to kiss against Nigel’s jaw, against his stubbled cheek, to the corner of his mouth, laughing when strong arms snare him and carry him to the living room.

“It’s not hard to use,” Adam tells him again, laughing more when Nigel growls against him, feeling his entire body respond to the sound. “And you can… can have settings and then just push - Nigel!” He squirms, arching his neck for Nigel to bite against, letting his hands curl in the shirt Nigel wears today.

“How’d I get so fucking lucky?” Nigel wonders aloud, his pulse flickering quick already, faster when he flattens his hand against the small of Adam’s back to feel him curve closer. He’s elegant without intention, gorgeous without awareness of it, lithe and sensual and fucking perfect. He’s fucking goddamn perfect.

And somehow, for some mysterious fucking reason, he puts up with Nigel.

He _wants_ to put up with Nigel.

When Nigel kisses Adam it’s a graceless thing, their mouths mashed together in a spill of breath and need. He grasps Adam’s hair, freshly washed and soft, tugging his curls until Adam’s voice carries high and their kiss breaks. Nigel’s lips snare his throat, bared, the side of his neck. He turns Adam to face the couch and leans heavy across his back, hands skimming his skinny thighs.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, angel. You’re fucking brilliant. You’re entirely fucking perfect -”

“I’m not -” Adam laughs. “That’s not possible -”

“It is,” Nigel snarls, grinning as he grasps Adam’s ass. “And you are.”

Adam just laughs, used to Nigel’s overuse of hyperbole especially regarding him. It feels nice to be wanted this much, to be adored like this and doted on. He catches himself against the back of the couch, bent over it, before he can lose his balance.

"I love you," he says in lieu of another correction. It doesn't matter. He can be perfect for Nigel. Nigel is imperfectly perfect for him. He ducks his head, pleased, when Nigel’s fingers slip to his throat again and work the bowtie off to let it drop to the couch.

Nigel tangles kisses into Adam’s hair, tickled by it, ducking his head lower to unbutton Adam’s collar. Pressing his mouth to the bared back of Adam’s neck, Nigel’s hands wander lower, along the soft sweater, tickling over ribs and narrow hips to find its hem.

“Arms,” Nigel whispers, and with a shiver, Adam lifts them. The sweater Adam nearly didn’t buy because he couldn’t decide between one shade of grey or the other is pulled free from him as he stands up to allow it. He’s glad to see it go.

“You bought all this yourself?” Nigel asks. Adam looks over his shoulder and nods, and with a laugh, Nigel snares him by the waist to turn Adam to face him again. “You did fucking great, angel. You’re fucking brave, you know that?” He says, running rough knuckles, made thick from breaks and violence, down Adam’s tender cheek. “I don’t even fucking go clothes shopping unless I fucking have to.”

"You might need to," Adam comments, and Nigel snorts. "You have very strange shirts." 

"You love my fucking shirts."

"I do love your shirts. So what will you do if I take them all and wear them myself? You will need new ones. I've figured out how to shop quickly now, I can teach you."

"Motherfucking Adam Raki," Nigel mumbles, nuzzling against Adam’s throat as he works the buttons of his shirt open. Adam shivers against him, and careful hands seek against Nigel’s neck, against the back of his head, trace down to his shoulder and hold on.

The press of Adam’s fingers against his back sends a current through Nigel that drives him closer against Adam, bending the younger man back. A little whimper only amplifies it, and Nigel abandons his attempt at the shirt to instead wraps his arms around. He growls against Adam’s throat, pressing against his pulse a torrent of kisses, sucking hard enough to make Adam squirm, licking long from his the curve of his neck to the join of his jaw.

“God,” Nigel sighs, breathing hard against Adam’s temple. “God, I love you, sparrow. My little bird, aren’t you. Adam fucking Raki.”

He spreads his fingers across the deep curve at the small of Adam’s back, down along his shirt to the waistband of his pants. Nigel tugs it loose and Adam’s hardly had time to gasp when Nigel slides his hand into the back of the snug slacks hugging Adam’s legs, into his tight red underwear. Splaying his hand over his ass, plush and round and soft, Nigel slips a finger between his cheeks, teasing.

Adam squirms, immediately pliant and warm and sensitive to it. He loves Nigel’s fingers. He loves what Nigel’s fingers can - and do - do to him. Biting his lip, Adam slips a hand down between them to unbutton his pants, to pull the fly down before turning his hand to rub between Nigel’s legs at the bulge hard and heavy there already.

“The new clothes feel really nice against my skin,” he whispers, voice hitched already as Nigel spreads his fingers against him, squeezing Adam’s ass a little higher. “Soft when they rub. It feels good. You feel better.”

Nigel holds his breath when Adam speaks, his voice a delicate thing, so winsome and sweet that Nigel dare not fucking disturb it with his own clumsy mutterings. His little bird singing softly for him, earnest words because Adam can’t be anything but genuine. Nigel finally sighs hard against Adam’s throat, grinding his hips forward when thin fingers curl around the ridge of his cock.

He presses his fingers further into the crevice of Adam’s ass and curves them, rubbing steady strokes across his opening. Adam trembles for him, all of him, even there, muscles quivering out of his control as Nigel pets his hole with firm fingertips.

“They’re fucking tight,” Nigel mutters. “Wanted to bend you over the moment I walked in the fucking door, darling.”

“You can,” Adam laughs, working Nigel’s pants open now, finally. “If you like. I like when you bend me over. Carry me around. Throw me to the bed so I bounce - do the neighbours wonder still?”

“Some complain,” Nigel laughs, and Adam grins. “I told them if they have a fucking problem -”

“Don’t tell them anything,” Adam laughs more, pushing up on his toes and spreading his legs as Nigel continues to fondle him. 

“They can hear on their own, darling, they’re probably just fucking jealous.”

“Nigel!”

“I’d be fucking jealous,” he continues, wrapping a hand around Adam’s thighs and hoisting one up against his hip. “If I got to hear your fucking sweet little sounds and know it was someone else making you feel that fucking good.”

Adam just moans, loud and delighted, and wraps his arms around Nigel’s shoulders tight.

Let them fucking talk. Let them give Nigel nasty looks when he drags their clothes down to the laundry. Let them stomp the floor above when Nigel’s buried his tongue so far in Adam’s ass that Adam can hardly breathe for it. They own the apartment now, mortgage paid free and clear. They’re not fucking renters.

And Nigel couldn’t give a fuck what anyone has to say so long as Adam’s there, making needy little sounds against his ear and telling him he loves him.

It’s all that fucking matters in the world.

Nigel pulls his hand free and kisses away the whine of protest from Adam’s mouth. He grabs his other leg and hoists him, carrying Adam’s weight easily against him, and groaning low when Adam curls his legs around Nigel’s hips. Adam’s fingers snare Nigel’s hair, pulling grey strands straight to bend his head back and Nigel lets him, watching through hooded dark eyes the beautiful boy who controls him so entirely.

“Bed,” Adam tells him. And Nigel grins as he goes.

“Demanding,” he scolds him, stealing another kiss. “Spoiled. Fucking perfect.”

“Spoiled by you,” Adam reminds him, clinging happily to Nigel as the man carries him through their apartment and to their bedroom. They have rearranged nothing but certain items have found their way into the apartment and into the bedroom that would not have been there had Adam remained living alone. A chair for Nigel to dump his clothes on just inside the walk-in closet, the closet itself divided now in half between Nigel’s garish shirts and Adam’s subtle palette. There are heavier razors in the bathroom, an extra toothbrush, more shampoo in the shower, another loofa.

It feels lived in. It feels theirs.

Adam makes a delighted sound as he’s tossed to the bed and he bounces, legs splaying wide. He catches his elbows behind himself and sits up, watches Nigel take in the way his shirt is partially open over bare, hairless chest, the way his pants vee out and reveal the red underwear beneath. Adam bites his lip and waits.

“Fucking -”

Nigel has stopped, entirely, hands on his shirt buttons but stilled. He again studies the length of Adam, attention lingering alert on the little show of red beneath his pants. His grin widens as Adam’s blush darkens from the attention, and Nigel makes short business of removing his shirt and pants.

“Fucking _red_ ,” he laughs, a single loud note as he clumsily tugs his pants off his foot and lets them fall. “Fucking red pants, Adam, I never fucking imagined -”

“I can wear red,” Adam protests, mildly, scooting back up the bed as Nigel clambers up atop him. He lays heavy, held in the warm confines of Adam’s legs, long enough to share a kiss before sitting back to his knees.

“Will you show me?” Nigel asks, pressing his hands back through his own hair. He’s stripped down to his own snug boxers, cock peeking out the top of the waistband. “It’s my fucking birthday, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Adam sighs, biting his lip again as he watches Nigel, allows himself to take him in entirely, broad and strong and hairy and larger, so much larger than little Adam. Adam loves it. He loves being enveloped in strong arms and cuddled, he loves being slept on, he loves being kissed and carried and handled. He _loves_ being handled.

He wriggles a little, higher up the bed, and arches his hips up to hook his fingers in the waistband of his slacks, working them down his thighs. He draws his knees up on either side of Nigel, smiling when he lets wide warm hands slip down Adam’s legs to touch the bared skin. A squirm and Adam’s knees press together, come up, and he tries not to roll to his side as he pulls his pants all the way off and tosses them to the floor.

He laughs, tugging his socks free as well, before slipping a finger beneath the elastic of his underwear and snapping it more comfortably against his skin so it is no longer riding up. He grins when Nigel catches his ankles to stop them being put to the bed again. Adam blinks at him around his legs and keeps his hand against his own thigh.

Nigel swears in Romanian; Adam knows the word well. Holding Adam’s ankles in his hand, Nigel lifts his chin in a nod, a curt thing, all animal drive and raw masculinity as he watches the smooth-skinned beauty coiling charming and uncertain beneath him.

“Your shirt,” Nigel tells him, drawing a sharp breath as Adam slips open the remaining buttons. His attention lingers on the revelation of Adam’s soft stomach, a tummy that Nigel loves beyond fucking reason, and Nigel has to bite back a moan as Adam wiggles free from the shirt and casts it carefully aside.

Legs held high, his pert ass encased in snug red y-fronts, Nigel lowers his free hand between his own legs. He shoves the elastic of his underpants beneath his balls, stiff cock bobbing heavy before he takes it in hand. Adam’s fingers twitch against his leg and Nigel quickly tracks the movement, head bowed and eyes raised.

“Show me,” he asks, whispering rough. “Please, baby.”

Adam’s breathing comes short, his cock hard beneath the comfortably tight fabric. He watches Nigel, sees the way he becomes almost feral looking at him this way, claiming and needy and _hungry_ , like some evenings when Nigel near-ambushes Adam in bed after watching his shows about tigers and growls against him until Adam is giggling and squirming to get his legs around Nigel properly.

His fingers press to his skin again, whitening it a little, before they walk closer and closer to the elastic again. Adam watches to see Nigel’s throat work in a swallow, drops his eyes to see how his cock twitches at just the thought of seeing Adam bared like this.

 _Naughty_. 

The word comes unbidden to the forefront of Adam’s mind and his cheeks heat with it as his eyes widen and he rests his fingertips against his hole through the fabric. Then he walks his fingers further still, just a little farther, to snare his fingers in the cotton and pull it aside.

The sound Nigel makes is primal. A low, rumbling groan held long, shoulders hunching as he stills his hand around his cock, forcing himself not to finish just from this. His gaze darts to Adam’s eyes, wide pools of blue framed by long lashes and a scarlet blush. Then slowly, so slowly Adam squirms and laughs shy from it, Nigel lets his eyes drift again. Over graceful neck and wide shoulders, lean arms and dark nipples. Over the curve of his belly and his pointed hips, to where his fingers, trembling in anticipation, hold him bared. Exposed. Pink skin wrinkled delicate between firm cheeks, encased all in tight red cotton.

“Fucking Christ, Adam.” A rattling whisper, undone entirely. “Adam fucking Raki.”

Adam’s fingers hardly move, and only to resettle, but it’s enough to break Nigel into another clipped moan. Seeking inward, Adam touches. Just a brush of his fingertip but enough that Nigel crumbles entirely.

He swears a blue streak as he turns Adam’s legs aside to the bed and lays against him again. Nigel shoves his own shorts down beneath his ass and spits messy into his hand to stroke himself slick. When they kiss, they collide, Adam’s fingers in Nigel’s hair as he lets go of the underpants, quickly tugged by calloused hands to ensnare his thighs and keep him bound.

“You like them,” Adam laughs, shivering and drawing his knees up as he arches his back, bare and presenting and delighted. His own cock spreads clear sticky fluid against his stomach as he laughs, as he pushes back against Nigel’s cock that bumps blunt against his hole seeking to push in.

“I saw them and I liked them,” Adam continues, breathless now, one hand seeking out on the sheets for purchase, the other splaying his fingers with Nigel’s hand as they clasp and hold together. “They look so nice because I’m so pale, and my thighs are paler since they never see the sun like my skin does, even a little, in summer, and -”

Nigel pushes, gentle, always gentle, even here, and Adam’s voice breaks.

“And I knew you’d do… do that…” He squirms and tries to push the y-fronts further down his thighs and finds himself stopped. “I like when you do that,” he mumbles into the sheets.

Nigel lets go of Adam’s ankles, his legs turned aside to the bed. Instead, he snares a hand in his briefs and pulls them tight around Adam’s thighs, holding him bound as he rocks his hips again, pressing inward to Adam’s welcome heat. Laying this way, the tightness of him is almost unbearable, and Nigel’s voice breaks wordless against Adam’s mouth as he seeks a messy kiss from him.

Tangling tongues and touching teeth to lips and spreading, parting, joining again they kiss in time with the slow thrusts that drive deep, inch by patient inch. Nigel is shaking with the effort, the fucking thrill of it, heart hitting against his ribs as he parts the kiss to breathe, nuzzling beside Adam’s nose.

“I love them,” he murmurs, tilting his head only to see how his hips meet the curve of Adam’s ass. A harder shove rattles the bed beneath them and he raises his gaze again. “I love you, sparrow. Adam. Angel. My fucking angel.”

Adam makes that purring sound of pleasure again and nuzzles against the blankets harder, arching back to meet every slow thrust Nigel pushes into him, contented on his side for the moment, though one leg seeks down as though to turn him and he finds himself snared. Laughing, Adam squirms back against Nigel further.

Then he moans.

Low and long and _loud_.

“You’re so big,” Adam mumbles, expression entirely lax, lips parted and eyes closed and cheeks flushed as he rides out the slowly speeding pace of Nigel’s fucking against him. “You feel so good.”

Nigel is fucking incoherent, murmuring a litany of praise and worship in Romanian against Adam’s cheek as he curls over him, hips driving hard. Adam speaks in truths, only, ever. The things he says, he means, and spoken so sweetly they do more for Nigel than any practiced attempt at talking dirty ever could. A seam pops in Adam’s new underwear, pulled tight in Nigel’s fist, and it does little more than jerk another moan from the man. He’ll buy him more. He’ll buy him a lifetime fucking supply of them.

His cock fills him. He hardly pulls out before he pushes back in, fucking deep and hard and shaking, his whole body is fucking shaking as Adam’s body yields to him like this. As Adam yields to him, moans pitching higher, little things that lift each time he sighs out, cock bouncing stiff against his belly.

“Touch for me, gorgeous,” Nigel pleads, rocking the whole of his body over Adam and holding himself there, buried to the hilt inside that beautiful ass, balls pressed against his backside. “Touch yourself for me.”

Adam makes another of those hitched little sounds and trembles, clenching his muscles to feel Nigel fill him so entirely, shivering at the sensation, relishing in it, before he brings his hand down to stroke himself. He’s already so close, leaking and slick over his stomach and down the length of his cock. 

Adam whimpers, he arches and bites against the sheets, he sucks Nigel’s fingers into his mouth instead when they seek against his lips. He is beautiful. He is an incredible, brilliant, stunning thing and he is Nigel’s, willingly, entirely his.

“Gonna come,” Adam mumbles around slippery fingers in his mouth.

Nigel leans back enough to tug Adam’s underpants free, down to his knees and off lovely little ankles and splayed toes. Still inside him, still filling him thick, Nigel spreads Adam’s legs apart and moans low as the beautiful boy beneath him arches at the sensation. Off the bed entirely, he curves upward, stroking himself faster now, mouth free of Nigel’s fingers as the older man sets his hands to Adam’s thighs instead to keep him splayed wide.

“Show me,” Nigel says again, his body taut, waiting to see, to watch.

Adam just strokes faster, chest heaving as he pants, pleased and warm and squirmy, toes splaying and curling, over and over, until Adam tenses entirely, tight around Nigel until the other curses, and only then does Adam come, hot and hard against his chest and belly, voice pulled tight and high before it breaks into a laugh.

And then Adam goes pliant, entirely, heavy and warm and kitten-like, sweet and flushed and well-fucked and watching Nigel with bright eyes from beneath thick lashes.

Nigel doesn’t have to move at all. Not with the sight of Adam lax before him, not with the fluid smeared thick across his pale skin, clear and milky white spilling down his flushed chest and soft stomach. With a resonant groan and a hard shudder, his pleasure courses through him in bursts, muscles jerking in response to the release he buries deep inside his Adam. His little bird. His darling.

His.

Entirely fucking his.

Nigel lets his hands slide free of Adam’s shaking thighs. Pressing fingers against his hole, he rubs the slick come that escapes back against his skin. Gently first, then a little firmer. Sliding a fingertip in damp alongside his cock, he works his release back inside of Adam, stretching him and watching as Adam whimpers and bends, hips raising towards the ceiling.

And then he relents, their passions spent, to slide his arms beneath Adam’s back and bring him from the bed to straddle Nigel’s thighs as he sits kneeling. Adam’s arms curl around his neck and Nigel sighs into a slow kiss, speechless.

Truly fucking speechless.

Adam nuzzles him, slow and deliberate, his grin wide enough that once in a while his teeth draw over Nigel’s skin. He laughs, warm and pleased, and shifts to sit higher up Nigel’s thighs, arms around him tight as he hums and sighs Nigel’s name against his chest, his eyes closing in pleasure.

“I love you,” Adam tells him. “Happy birthday.”

“Very,” Nigel murmurs, hiding his smile against the curve of Adam’s neck. “Very fucking happy birthday.”


End file.
